Meanwhile, At School...

Recently, as some of you may recall, we had a bit of a situation at school involving a bully.

I did indeed telephone Joseph's teacher (Ms. W) about this classmate-- the one with the unhealthy interest in my son's medical ID. She addressed the issue immediately-- sitting "L" down and calling the boy on his actions -- then scheduling our diabetes talk with the class shortly after.

According to Ms. W, the boy felt quite badly about what he'd done.

Good.

On the day of our talk, Joseph and I were to speak just half an hour before the kids would leave for home-- and thankfully, there were no other speakers scheduled. (That's right, this time I would not be following the Governor's wife.)

When I arrived, stepping quietly to the front of the classroom, I was immediately struck by the fact that this was a much bigger class than last year's group-- both in size and number.

Even their desks looked bigger.

Scanning the room, I saw many, many new faces-- and I noticed L sitting right up front. I lingered on him for just a moment longer than the rest -- giving him a serious, knowing look -- as I placed our black backpack on the desk in front of me.

Then I heard a chair scrape across the floor, looked up and saw Joseph making his way quickly forward.

Once by my side, he shot me a smile, then turned to face his classmates-- nodding and making eye contact with many of them -- while I pulled out his meter, a syringe, a bottle of insulin, an infusion set and The Calorie King.

Then I took a deep breath, looked up with a smile, and jumped right in:

"Well then, let’s start at the beginning, where diabetes starts-- in the pancreas.... anyone know where that is?"

Hands shot up, and Joseph called on each of them.

Together, we drew diagrams on the white board of a pancreas, the bloodstream, and a cell-- illustrating how insulin "unlocks" the body's cells, allowing glucose to get in so the body has fuel for energy. For growth...

And when I turned and asked them all what happens if your pancreas can't make insulin anymore, a pretty girl with large brown eyes responded immediately:

"Then you die."

For a brief moment, I stumbled. It was very strange-- almost as if the girl had hit me.

No, that's not right.

More like she'd hit my son.

Everyone was very quiet-- including Joseph.

And then I found my voice.

"Well, uh, yes-- but not if you can get insulin from someplace else."

And so we were back on track. Discussing the ways that Joseph can receive insulin, with him lifting his shirt to reveal his pump, his infusion site; talking about carbs and why Joseph must count them; explaining highs and lows-- and the dangers of both.

Yes, it was all going really well-- until the bell rang signaling the end of the school day.

And while none of the kids seemed anxious for our talk to end (they clearly had many more questions), Ms. W reminded us all that their buses were waiting.

"Everyone, you need to gather your things... now, I'm wondering if Joseph would be willing to answer questions tomorrow, after lunch," she told the class. Then turning to Joseph, "How do you feel about that?"

"Sure, that'd be great," Joseph told her, looking very pleased.

So the next day, when he called from the classroom during a late afternoon snack, Joseph held out the phone so that I could hear a chorus of voices shout: "HELLO!"

Then we figured out his bolus together.

"How did your Q & A go, Bud?

"Great, Mom. They all asked a lot of really good questions-- like if I have to sleep with the pump on and if it hurts. Stuff like that."

He paused for maybe two seconds, and then:

"Mom, it was good."

And as we ended our call, I heard another kid trying to get Joseph's attention, followed by those voices again:

"GOOD BYE!!"

Yup, it was very good.